Lost and Found
by salynoon
Summary: The Girl Who Lived is missing, but the Dark Lord is rising - and in order to bring peace to the Wizarding World she must be found. Should they fail... the consequences would be most dire. And so the hunt begins - the parties racing against each other and time itself. For a girl, who might defy the expectations and convention. Acta est fabula...
1. Chapter 1

_Warnings_: AU, fem/independent/badassHarry.

_Pairings_: not decided

_Disclaimer_: I don't own anything, but JKR does. And she rocks :D

_Note_: (and warning as well) English is only my second language. I have to apologize in advance for my mistakes. This is also my very first fanfic, so bear with me, please :)) That means that Reviews are loved and appreciated, and if someone could check my lines and tell me whether they're grammatically wrong or not – and stuff like that – would be most kind of you.

_Story Warning_: it starts slow.

**LOST AND FOUND**

Chapter One

_Nothing in particular_

It was an ordinary day, only 24 hours of a year, of all eternity. Not one cloud dared to obscure the sparkling and blindingly blue sky of that day in June. It was pleasantly warm and maybe that was the reason for so many to go outside. And so the streets of London were quite busy – no, wait. They always were.

But today everything was just buzzing with energy, and even the air was full with something heavy. Something not many could understand, for they couldn't even feel it. It was just there, like a shadow looming over you when you are sleeping: your subconscious knows it's there, but it is still out of your reach. Or at least you cannot comprehend it with your rational mind.

London, however, was always quite the spectacular city, glorious in itself. Many gathered here: people with dreams, with ambitions, with goals. People loved, hated, grieved, laughed in this huge city, feeding it their energy. The power of their humanity.

It could be felt anywhere and everywhere, though to different extent. But the centre of the city breathed, lived on its own. And yet, sometimes some people could still feel the scent of burned wood, still could hear the screams of fire victims. Because London was special, so was it's history. Especially the fire in 1666.

The exact facts of the fire? Nobody knew them, or at least they weren't in London. And even if they were, they uttered no word about it. _Why?_ And most importantly: _Where were they?_

But – to be quite honest – not many cared about facts and secrets nowadays. Well, those bustling around the streets didn't seem to, and maybe that was fine too. Since _ignorance is a bliss. _Or so they thought. Or so _she_ thought.

However, she had no time to get too philosophical – _again –_, since she had to hurry up to get to the café in time, because if she didn't, she might as well avoid that place. Not that she liked tardiness, quite the opposite, but things just kept happening around her. Strange occurrences with no explanation whatsoever.

The girl stepped out of her flat – which she rented for the duration of the summer – and sprinted down the old stairs, careful not to brush the mouldy wall with her elbows or bag and became one with the crowd of Oxford Street. On her way she pulled up her long and somewhat curly – and untameable – black hair into a loose ponytail. She was trying her best not to bump into anyone, but that didn't quite work, since she had to be pretty pushy in order to get from one point to the other, especially in the masses of tourists. Oh, how much she _hated_ them: noisy, nosy, hyperactive people with cameras and the like. And that meant photos – and _that_ in turn meant that she had to do everything in order to _not_ be on those pictures. It was plainly _a hell of a work._

But she managed to get to the café without being late and that in itself was a miracle. It also meant that she could keep her morning job – which she _desperately _needed – for another day. So, she entered the small establishment, went to the staffroom to put on her frilly skirt-like apron, her nametag and started looking for her boss, whom she found at the counter.

The man was sex on legs, prince charming and Lucifer in one person. She had no problems with that, however she was wary of him. Because he was good looking, and she had problems with handsome males: they were arrogant, rude and they wanted to hit on her. Now _that _didn't bode well. Hitting on her? Just no way. Because then she just wanted to hit something. Hard. Preferably a certain part of his anatomy – and castrating him with that single motion. Alas, she couldn't do that, not yet.

"Where have you been, Lily?" asked her boss, Alan, not even turning to give her his full attention.

The emerald eyed girl huffed and took in the interior of the café, spotting a young lady with a laptop before her, still not served. In her she saw her own escape route.

"I am not late, Mr. Richter! Now please..."

But the man was bold and cruel to interrupt her – therefore delaying her escape. _The bastard._

"Just how many times do I have to tell you not to call me so? It's Alan to you, Lily." His smile was blinding, but the girl didn't really care. She would have, is she had any sunglasses with her. Well, she didn't, so...

"As many times as I have to tell you to keep this _strictly _professional. And it is _still _Miss Jameson to you, _Sir_. Now _please _excuse me." with that she marched away to greet the lady with her most charming smile, which was a fake of course, but it served well in angering her boss even further.

These banters were not that rare, but they kept her on edge and wary of everything and everybody around her. And the kept her entertained too, which was important, since her job here was not so interesting. She just had to plaster a winning smile on her face, serve the clients, act nice with the other assistants, and then leave. She needed the money not because to buy food and keep herself going, but to avoid suspicion.

After all she had that _certain _bank account, which held quite the sum, illegal or not. Since money was just that: money. Nobody could track her moves, since she did everything about her personality, fortune and background in a not so ordinary way. But that was her way and nobody questioned it.

And then came noon, which meant she could finally leave the café and head for her afternoon job at the nearby library. Getting these jobs was risky, but she _miraculously _managed it. Crossing the street she didn't see the lone figure in the crowd that seemed follow her.

She put on her librarian uniform – a white chemise, midnight blue skirt, and nametag –, let her hair down and brushed it (not that it did any good!) and exited the staffroom, taking her seat at her desk. She switched her computer on, and looked out of the window behind her for a moment. She turned back, and logged in with her password.

There were drawbacks to this job too, like the most unpleasant: chatting. Talking was fine, but bringing up topics like school, films, music and _books_ was insane.

'Who would talk about _books_ while having a job at a library?' she thought somewhat bitterly, but she still answered every question the others had. She had to admit though, that this job was not only monotonous, but rather boring as well. Not that it bothered her, but it bothered others and when the others were bothered, they bothered _her_, and _then _she was _bothered!_

So she answered and asked the others about things too, but thankfully her place was near both the bookshelves and the entrance, so that meant people. Not her colleagues, but visitors, and answering their queries was a much easier thing to do. All she had to do was to check names on her computer, ask for ID cards, give directions and mundane things like that, so being friendly was not really a problem. After all, they wouldn't even remember her, would they?

She was sitting at her desk, bending over it and checking some of the printed papers when a shadow hovered over her.

"May I request your assistance?" the shadow had a voice, and what a voice! Sinful silk, melting chocolate. And dark – darker than death maybe, and yet sharper than any blade you could find.

The girl startled and looked up at the man, though not hurrying up the process. She took him in slowly and every part of him: from the black trousers to the green button-down, but when she took a look at his face, she just froze. It wasn't his pale skin, or crooked and quite big nose that shocked her into silence, but _those eyes_... They held no emotion, and yet they were so intense that they set her very soul on fire. _Those eyes _didn't look _at_ her, but _into _her. They were deep and dark, like tunnels. Tunnels that had no light on one end, but _you were the light on the other. _

And then her mind started to reboot – finally.

"Of course, sir. Please ask away."

The man continued to look at her, his gaze unmoving, without blinking. And it _scared _her, but she managed to mask that feeling and discomfort pretty well.

"I am looking for a book from Gaston Leroux. His most notable one."

The voice of the man was a torture: it made her shiver, but in an unpleasant way. There was something about this man which caused her to be edgy. Very much so.

"So in other words, you are looking for The Phantom of the Opera. Well then, I need your library card to check you in, sir." she started clicking here and there with the mouse, trying to seem busy so that she didn't have to look into those black tunnels.

"I am afraid I do not possess a... _library card_."

'Oh, damn it!' she thought miserably and swallowed. Just her luck, really. But at least she refrained from cursing aloud, which was quite the deed.

"At least that's something I can help you with..." and then she stopped, before she said something even ruder. She cleared her throat and tried to pretend that the previous seconds never happened. No such luck in that department. "Yes, well. I'll need your name, your ID for clarification and that's it."

She opened a new file, copied the standard registry and got ready to fill in the gaps.

"Tobias Prince and here you are."

She sensed uncertainty and coldness from this man when he uttered his name. She hastily looked up at him, not knowing whether this _malice _was directed at her, or not.

'What a unique name he has...'

Those eyes trapped her once again, but this time she didn't let herself to be a _doe_ caught in the headlights: she sharpened her gaze, though she didn't glare at the stranger. _Yet._ She just took the ID card with such ferocity that even the stoic man seemed to be surprised, even if for just a second.

She glanced at the plastic card, checked what she needed then she gave it back without looking at the man. She filled in the gaps quickly and put on a fake smile.

"Everything is in order, sir, have a nice day." she sputtered and started bending over her papers once again, trying _desperately _to forget the man. Who chuckled once. Darkly.

'Whoa there... Did he just chuckle? At me? And darkly...? Who is he – Dracula or what?'

"Actually," he droned somewhat amusedly "I am need of your help to get to the mentioned book."

And that was the exact moment she _choked_ on her own saliva. She looked up at him _once again_, though now with the 'are you serious?' look.

Up went an eyebrow at her childish look.

One of her colleagues sent her a _Look_, and that got her to finally move. She stood up and started walking down the aisles. It was not a big deal to manoeuvre between the bookshelves, since everything was topically arranged _and _in alphabetic order.

'But what's with this man?' she asked herself. 'It's like... I don't know. Like he has never seen a library before. Or is he just teasing me? And oh, gee... I can _feel_ his eyes burning a damn _hole_ into the back of my head! Troublesome, troublesome...'

She turned left, then started gathering pace but the man could easily keep up. After all, he was quite tall, in fact, he was towering over her, but she didn't back down. She wouldn't. Instead, she held her chin high and walked with icy grace. It was looked impressive when she was surrounded by _normal_ people, but it didn't work in the presence of this man.

His posture was deadly. While she possessed 'icy grace', he broadcasted his grace – and quite honestly: _everything –_ in a very deadly way. Like he was superior to everybody else in the room. That made her to admire him a bit, but it also made her skin crawl.

Thankfully, however, they arrived and she stopped. The girl in uniform pointed at the book, but then – against her better judgement –, she grabbed and pulled it with grate care. She recognized this copy; this was the one she had read on many occasions. She smiled at its cover, though it was just a small upturn of lips, it was the only genuine smile that day.

Not noticing the man's intense stare – but quite aware of her childish behaviour – she handed the book over with a slight blush on her otherwise white marble face.

"I _do _appreciate your help, Miss... Lily Jameson." the man's face was marred by a frown for a moment, when he was looking at the emerald eyed girl's nametag, then those black orbs snapped back at hers, quite obviously contemplating something.

And when he read her name – or at least the name that was written on her nametag –, his voice dipped lower. Not dangerously low, just low enough to make her utterly _suspicious _But no, she _wouldn't back down_, no matter what; even if a small voice in the back of her mind was shouting at her, telling her to turn her back on this man, walk away and _never _look back. No. She wouldn't give him the satisfaction.

'Not now, or ever.'

That silent oath rang through her mind, echoing until it was deafening. The girls stare intensified and the man seemed to reel back just a bit – then even _that_ was gone from his face. No expressions. None.

"_I_ am just doing my _job_, sir." now _that_ got a reaction out of him, but fleeting expression of undiluted disdain was not something to be stomached so easily.

"Have a nice day then, Miss Jameson." with that the man turned on his heels and marched away. Again, with that enviable grace, leaving a gaping girl in his wake.

'How _dare_ he leave me here like this?'

But no internal raging brought the dark man back, and for that she was incredibly thankful. And yet, she was most intrigued by Tobias Prince.

LOST AND FOUND – LOST AND FOUND – LOST AND FOUND – LOST AND FOUND

The dark haired man stared into the charmed mirror, talking to someone only he could see, though that person was most definitely not him. His reflection was the face of an old man's with long white beard and hair. His blue eyes were sparkling maddeningly over his half-moon glasses.

"Have you found her, Severus?" asked the greatest wizard of their time with obvious intrigue in his voice.

"I do not know as of yet, but I _shall_ investigate, Albus." the younger man's voice was unsure and calculating, but it showed his own curiosity in the girl he had met earlier that day.

The old one noncommittally hummed, his eyebrows furrowing. Suddenly he looked into the black orbs one again, his question sharp:

"What are the chances, my boy?"

The man in black sighed but answered nonetheless:

"They are high, but I have to caution you yet again, Headmaster, to not get your hopes up."

"Of course, of course." the ancient man flicked his hand in the air as if to shoo away a bee.

"I will report my findings as soon as I can, Headmaster. Good night."

The old man nodded at the younger one, then the connection broke. _Tobias Prince_ blinked at his real reflection and put away the enchanted mirror. He stood up from his sitting position at the table and walked to the window of his small rented flat. Drawing the curtains he looked out of his window, staring blindly at the pedestrians below.

Though it was dark – it was way past 10 pm – he didn't bother with the lights of his room. He just stood there in silence and darkness; and those two fitted him perfectly. There was no sound in his room, that was for sure, but his thoughts were running away from him. A loud mess of memories of his childhood, of his _horrors_ and of today. Because _that girl_ was not only infuriating, but a puzzle as well. Making him look, making him see, making him _feel_ – whether it be annoyance, curiosity or things even more complicated.

But one thing was for sure. That name in his mind didn't seem to cease echoing. _Lily Jameson, Lily Jameson, Lily Jameson..._ It was driving him mad already, so he shielded his mind even more, squeezing out his thoughts – his _every_ thought. He was a _Master_ _Occlumens _after all.

But even after his exorcism of feelings and thoughts, all he could see was that pair of green eyes. Haunting him, torturing him once more.

**This is the end of Chapter One**

PS: Soooo. This is my first fanfic's very first chapter (as you can see). Rate and Review, please!

PS. No 2: As I have already mentioned, the story starts slow. I don't really like _in medias res_. Also, this chapter is quite short – and I apologise for that –, but only because it's the only the start. (And juts to be cruel: the original _Chapter One_ was longer, but I had to cut it. Not "had to", but "decided to". Bwuhahhaaa!)

PS. No 3: I am looking for a **beta**, I would absolutely appreciate the help!

Ps. No 4: You can follow the story on _Twitter_ too - through me, of course. You can find me under the same name ( salynoon). That's where I am going to announce the release dates.

_And most importantly, my Dear Readers: _

_**Thank you for reading!**_

Saly


	2. Chapter 2

_Warnings_: AU, fem/independent/badassHarry.

_Pairings_: not decided

_Disclaimer_: I don't own anything, but JKR does. And she rocks :D

_Note_: (and warning as well) English is only my second language. I have to apologize in advance for my mistakes. This is also my very first fanfic, so bear with me, please :)) That means that Reviews are loved and appreciated, and if someone could check my lines and tell me whether they're grammatically wrong or not – and stuff like that – would be most kind of you.

_Story Warning_: it starts slow.

**LOST AND FOUND**

Chapter Two

_Crumble_

'That _blasted_ clock has been going at it for _quite_ some time...' a voice incredibly similar to hers commented, but she didn't really hear, or just didn't care. Usually it was the latter one.

"Hmppff...wait, wha'?" the girl's words came out muffled by her pillow for she was on her stomach, face down, almost suffocating herself, "Whoa, shit!"

The black haired girl leaped out of bed, almost crashed into the wardrobe. She quickly dressed herself in black jeans and a tank top, grabbed her bag and keys, running all the way to the café. She didn't waste time by going in trough the backdoor, she choose the front door, barging in like some sort of terrorist. She certainly could have been one – by her looks at least.

"You are late, _Miss Jameson._" snarled Alan when she entered the staffroom to get ready. "I'll be waiting outside."

'Jerk.'

The girl dressed, combed her hair, but let it fall on her shoulders and back, not really caring, then she exited her sanctuary and entered her personal hell. She found herself face to face with Lucifer.

"You 'kay? Did something happen?" Alan was frowning and dare she say it, she detected a small hint of worry in his voice.

'Or maybe he is playing the nice guy to... well, into whatever position he prefers.'

"To your first question: just _peachy_," her words were dripping with sarcasm while she was ticking away the numbers on her fingers, "and to the second: nothing in particular."

"Then get to work," he drawled then turned back to the counter.

She shrugged and took in the customers – and she almost tripped in her own legs. Alan turned to her yet again.

"Are you _really _okay?"

"Do I need to repeat myself?" she grabbed a tray and looked challengingly at her boss.

"Do _I_?"

She huffed and turned back to the man, who was becoming the _bane of her existence_. She took a deep breath, squared her shoulders and approached him like she would any other client. But if so, why did she have the feeling to get ready for battle?

The man was sitting in one of the corners, trying to be invisible. If he wished to be shadowed – considering his dark clothes and all – then it didn't really happen, since instead of walls, the establishment had windows, so the sunlight actually managed to terrorize his pale skin.

'And I hope he gets sunburnt.'

She swallowed a bit – to avoid choking like last time – and stepped up to him.

"Hello."

The stranger didn't even look up from the 'menu', but that was more than alright with her.

"Good morning." dark droning, check.

"How may I help you _this time?_"

The man startled, looked up at her winded.

'Hah, victory!' she thought, though didn't dare say it aloud. She smirked smugly instead, looking down at him physically for the very first time.

Seeing the girl's expression and reaction the man sneered. He wasn't really attractive, no, maybe more on the exotic side, but _that_ look didn't make his face any better. Even she was a bit intimidated – or maybe just surprised? - by that look, not that she would ever admit.

'Is he a _stalker_ or something?'

"_No_," the man snapped, and she blinked at him owlishly, "I do not need your help per se, but I am in need of coffee."

'Oh, yes, I can see that. Snappish in the morning, huh?' and again, she didn't voice her thoughts, just pointed at the 'menu' in the man's hand.

"And what may I get you then?"

"A cup of coffee." the man looked at her as if she had two heads all of a sudden. Yet, she managed to contain her laugher – not that it went unnoticed by the stoic man.

The man turned his attention back to the sheet, not really reading it through. He frowned at the _complexity_ of it and then, maybe conceding defeat, he put it back down and looked at her once again. Black crashing against green.

"The strongest. No sugar."

The girl smiled for some unknown reason, that secret smile of hers, then walked away without saying a word or looking back at the man, even though he had eyes only for her. He was observing her, her figure, her expressions, her movements her interactions with others.

Not that she cared – she didn't even notice. She had guests to serve after all, and a boss to please and say 'no' to, since he asked her out again. But that was quite frequent, maybe once in every three days. The answer, however didn't change. Nope.

And so it went. She served people, she smiled that fake smile of hers, cleaned the tables, spoke to the other waitresses, bantered with her boss, served the mysterious man _five _times – the same black, no sugar –, tried not to splash the coffee on the man out of sheer frustration, she kept smiling – her muscles really started to ache – and stepped on her boss' toe quite forcefully for ogling her _again_.

She stopped by the counter, looking at the lone cup of steaming coffee, not really remembering the person that had ordered it. She looked up at Alan with indecision clear in her eyes. The man glanced at her, then indicated to the man in the corner.

'Not again!'

No matter how much she mentally whined, her boss' look was quite serious. Rarity.

"It's on the house."

She sighed and got moving towards the man, who hadn't moved for hours. He was just sitting there; reading newspaper like it was the most majestic thing in the world. With his regal and superior air around him he could even pull _that _off.

She neared the man in her 'fight or flight' mode: ready to kick him in the groin _and then _run like hell. She carefully positioned the cup in front of him, taking, _snatching _the other one up. His black, unfathomable eyes darted up to meet her green, wary ones. His eyebrows drew together in confusion.

"It's on the house..." she explained.

The man nodded.

"Thank you, then."

"Don't thank me, it wasn't my idea."

The man snorted at her gutsy retort and took the cup in his right hand. A hand, which immediately commanded her attention. His fingers were pale, like his face, but had small scars scissoring them. They were long and lean, yet seemed to be strong. What infuriated her was, however, the way he held the cup to his lips, like an aristocrat. Again with such _grace._

He caught her staring, and his left eyebrow disappeared in his hairline. Now it was her turn to draw her eyebrows together and cover up.

"That's your sixth," she started, and the man's other eyebrow joined the first one, "so how come, that you are not running around high on sugar?"

The man scoffed at her, but said no word on the matter. He paid her no attention – not that she _wanted_ any –, so she left him be with a roll of her eyes.

'He truly is a sweetheart, isn't he?'

And from there everything went downhill. She was asked to take on the night shift too, which meant more money, but more work too. Well, not that she could afford to say 'no'. But first she had to go to the library for a few hours. Five times sixty minutes were incredibly boring, when one couldn't do anything constructive.

In moments like these did she start wondering what to do next, where to go next to avoid recognition, for London was huge, with many hideouts and dark alleys to get lost in. Because the mysterious man's sudden appearance had her worrying.

After all, she attended one school, but she kept moving each summer to get lost in England, or at least lose those, who were possibly looking for her. She was fine like this – using her _tricks_ to get by, to make people accept her, without doubting her words and lies. Using _tricks_ to support herself financially.

Those _trick_ were very effective, unimaginable, unexplainable and extraordinary, but they still came in handy. To be quite honest, she used to be afraid of these things and occurrences, but since she didn't want to get busted – because that was something she always tried to avoid –, she would practice, trying to learn control. And it worked. To some extent.

While she was walking down the memory lane – which was a lot better, than staring at the bookshelves –, she failed to notice the man across the street, sitting on a bench and staring at her back through the window.

Ignorance _was_ a bliss.

The hours passed, there was no man to start a staring competition with, no witty retorts, so basically nothing to anger, mock or entertain her – minus her memories of course. This way she managed to relax her shoulders, and she tried to massage her neck muscles, coercing them to give up their stiffness. Self-inflicted massage, however, wasn't the most effective she could get, but that's what she _could_ do.

Then back to the café, though she seriously started to tire; even her mood-swings toned down a bit, but not by much. Smiling became harder and harder by every minute, tolerating her boss was even more strenuous.

And now she was sporting a headache as well – brilliant.

"Drink," said that sinful voice alarmingly close to her head. She looked up and found herself staring into those black eyes once again.

The man projected nothing: not even a single emotion. His eyes were boring holes into her face, and she looked back at them. Wary? Yes. Comprehending? No.

Then she noticed the steaming coffee in front of her.

"It's not poisoned, is it?"

The man looked positively amused for a split second, then everything was masked.

'How does he do that?'

"Wouldn't you like to _know,_" he drawled, yet there was this small glint in those unfathomable eyes of his.

She smiled a bit and took the cup in her small hands to bring the liquid to her lips. She savoured every drop of it, not really caring how childish she must have looked. The scent of the coffee was lulling her worrying mind, relaxing her tense muscles. In fact, it had the exact opposite effect: it almost made her fall asleep on the counter.

She shook her head slightly, attempting to wake herself, but it didn't really work, so she just sighed and put away her cup and when she looked up at the man, she noted that he had already gone back to his seat. And he was staring at her with _those eyes_, making her involuntarily shiver. She gave in to the temptation and turned away...

The hours were crawling by very slowly and with every second – blending into minutes -, her fatigue. But she had no time for self-pity for she had a boss to satisfy. Instead of complaining she just cleaned the counter and the desks, mute the entire time. No one dared to bother her, for which she was extremely grateful.

She took care of the dishes and when she walked back to the counter, her boss pushed a glass of something in front of her.

"There. You've earned it," he nodded at her and she took the glass. She started drinking and emptied the glass in one go.

'I needed that energy drink,' she thought and tried to get back to work, but Alan stopped her with a hand on her arm.

"That man isn't bothering or stalking you, is he?"

She was a bit surprised to detect real concern in his voice. She glanced at the man in black subtly, then she shook her head slightly, not even sure _what_ the man was doing exactly. She gulped and looked into her boss' eyes.

"No, I... I don't really think so," she answered uncertainly.

"You don't _really think so_?"

The man's cold voice snapped her attention back to the present.

"It... might just be a coincidence."

Her voice was hardly over a whisper; she had to blink several times to clear her vision. Everything started to blur suddenly, and there was some sort of roaring in her head and ears. She took a deep breath and used the counter the stabilize herself.

"Hey... Are you okay?"

She just managed a grunt, so Alan took her by the elbows and started to lead her outside. She met the stranger's black eyes on their way out: the man was looking at her with a very strange glint in his eyes. His hands were linked in front of his mouth, like in a prayer, so she couldn't see the lower part of his grim face. Not that she wanted to look at his face, but his eyes captured hers and were following her every movement.

The girl had a very peculiar feeling, and a bad one at that. But the staring contest ended when she walked out through the back door and their connection was severed. The warm air hit her like a hammer and she felt even more lightheaded.

"Woah... What's wrong?"

She closed her eyes, trying to will the spinning world to finally stop. No such luck in that department.

"He gave me coffee... uhgh..."

By then Alan was holding up most of her weight.

"And you drank it? Are you nuts?"

She could only hum in response, not really caring about anything. Then Alan picked her up bridal-style and started walking down the narrow alley with her, but she didn't really notice. Not until they reached Oxford Street, which was illuminated beautifully, but the lights only made her eyes hurt.

"M'eyes... put me down... 'm fine..."

"Yeah, sure you are. I'm taking you home."

The man walked up to his parked car, unlocked it, managed to open the door without dropping her and laid her down on the backseat. He then climbed in and started the engine. He fastened his seatbelt and started driving at a slow pace first.

But she had no real memories of the drive, just flashes of lights and colours. She could recall, that they stopped at times – probably because of traffic lights –, but other than that, she had no real recollection of it. Not that she was sleeping, or anything. She didn't even pass out, but the thing, the _drug_ in her system made it impossibly hard to concentrate, so she didn't.

Though she was on the verge of unconsciousness, she couldn't really give in to sleep; some part of her brain knew that she had to stay awake, no matter what. A part of her mind and personality was still active and she was actually aware of it. _She tried to tap it_…

But then the car lurched to the right and then it came to a halt – the movement interrupting her concentration. She curled in on herself, willing the feeling of sickness go away, but nothing seemed to work. She tried to ask Alan a question, but her voice decided to abandon her that moment. Even her _thoughts_ were jumbled.

Her boss crawled out of his car onto the dirty pavement of the dark alley. Alan opened the door and took in the curled figure of his attendant. He sighed loudly, tousled his hair and took the girl's legs to pull her towards himself, causing the girl to grunt in protest.

He leaned over her, to get a grip on the girl's limbs and the he turned her over so she was lying on her back instead. She owlishly blinked up at the blurry figure.

"Are you feeling any better?" asked Alan. He shook her arms a bit to get her attention. She managed to nod once. "Good."

Said man was looming over her, she knew that, but it still caused alarm in her slow mind and body. Especially when the man touched her cheek with one hand, and her inner thigh with the other. But he was also kissing her – or rather, he was forcing his lips on top of hers, willing them to open up.

Her first real thought in quite some minutes was very simple and clear: she didn't want this. Not at all. Nor did she like it: the man's hand were strong and harsh when he was working on her button-down blouse. His pants became louder and needier as he was rutting against her.

Her attempts to break free, however, were futile. Her weakened and unresponsive arms just didn't follow her mind's orders, no matter how much she wanted them to. Even her fuzzy mind started to clear in the situation at hand.

And then suddenly the man took her wrists in one of his hands and pinned them over her head.

"Stop…" her first words since the café came out as a whispered plea.

In that situation she felt no hope. She had no one to call – she knew that no one would come to her rescue. In those moments the feeling of utter loneliness was highlighted and the sentiment of abandonment suffocated her very soul.

She felt the urge to cry, but the stubborn tears just wouldn't fall. Here she was, after all – alone, seconds away from being raped. All these years of staying alive on the run, working, blending in, yet hiding… Everything was for nothing. Even her well built defences were crumbled.

And she was left there to tremble in terror.

**This is the end of Chapter Two**

PS.: Thank you for your lovely reviews, and thank you for following me and/or my story!

PS. No 2: I am looking for a **beta**, I would absolutely appreciate the help!

PS. No 3: I won't have the time to write, because I'm going on my awaited holiday. So see you guys in two and a half weeks.

PS. No 4: You can follow the story on _Twitter_ too - through me, of course. You can find me under the same name ( salynoon). That's where I am going to announce the release dates.

PS. No 5: a cover has been added to my story. Big thanks to _Kizuna-chan_ from _Deviantart_.

_And most importantly, my Dear Readers: _

_**Thank you for reading!**_

Saly


	3. Chapter 3

_Warnings_: AU, fem/independent/badassHarry.

_Pairings_: not decided

_Disclaimer_: I don't own anything, but JKR does. And she rocks :D

_Note_: (and warning as well) English is only my second language. I have to apologize in advance for my mistakes. This is also my very first fanfic, so bear with me, please :)) That means that Reviews are loved and appreciated, and if someone could check my lines and tell me whether they're grammatically wrong or not – and stuff like that – would be most kind of you.

_Story Warning_: it starts slow.

**LOST AND FOUND**

Chapter Three

_Exposure_

She was _struggling_, but nothing seemed to work – Alan was just too strong for her. And being drugged didn't help the situation either, even though her mind started to reboot. Her movements were just too slow, sluggish, as if the drug affected her muscles and nervous system.

And no matter how hard she was trying, no matter how much she wanted to escape, maybe even cause him harm, she was as defenseless as a _newborn child_. And it scared her – but not to death. Being raped was still something way better, than being tortured. Not that she had any experience, but she had already learned to see the "positive" side of everything. And there are _always_ worse things out there to encounter.

But her position infuriated her – after all she was always one step ahead of anybody else. _Or so she thought_, and she always prided herself on her preparedness. She always took her bearings in accurately and never let anybody slip away from her attentive green orbs. And yet here she was, lying under her lustful boss, who now was officially deemed an _asshole_.

'Just stop it… Alan! Please…!'

She screwed her eyes shut, trying to wake herself from this nightmare, but she could still feel him on herself, forcing his tongue into her mouth, when the idea came to her. As her last resort, she bit down with all the power she had in her unresponsive muscles, and attacked his intruding tongue. Alan squeezed out a whine – which sounded utterly like a rat's, a _rat that he truly was_ –, but then he moaned wantonly. And she almost threw up.

She felt no pleasure in this act, no matter how good looking he was – she just couldn't stand him doing things such as this one. And though his hands were _burning_ her skin, it was maybe the most unpleasant thing she had ever felt before – nothing could compare to this one; the feeling of utter humiliation, _failure _and _disappointment _was drowning her.

But really, what else did she expect? In a world, such as this one, she could see _no honor_, _no valor_. And no _bravery_ at all. People were often left behind, _abandoned_ – and so was she. Cold and hopeless. Alone, afraid and unable to even cry out.

However, God or her Angels, or maybe Satan and his minions sent her the savior she was hoping for desperately. And even though every girl dreams of a Knight, someone who saves them, she never did. She didn't want to be weakened by a belief such as that one and she had come to know years previously, that she had only herself to rely on. And she was fine like that.

_Until now…_

The door was suddenly opened with such brutality; she never even knew was possible. That was the moment when she opened her eyes once again, not that it did her any good: she couldn't see her _Hero_, but the man enveloped in darkness took Alan by his ankles and yanked him off of her.

Her mind needed some seconds to recognize the welcomed change, but the amount of her _fear_ didn't abate, much to her discomfort. In fact, her negative emotions started to escalate what with the new and anonymous person's arrival. It didn't bode well. Not to her, she knew that – so she decided to make a run for it, or try to escape. But for that she had to move her limbs and muscles first, which wasn't a piece of cake for her in that very moment.

But going into her "flight mode" – and the adrenaline finally kicking in –, she managed to set her priorities right and with her enormous _will_, which was her uniqueness, she coerced her body to finally _move_ and to swing into action. She succeeded in opening the door at her head and started to crawl her way out of the vehicle she came to hate _so much_.

She literally fell to the dirty cobblestoned pathway alley, bruising her palms in the process – not that her mind could actually take in the stimulus: she had grater problems to worry about. Nor did she mind dirtying her clothes in that moment. She did her best to stand up, but she had to use both the wall and the side of the car for support. This way she could squeeze herself in between these objects, slowly escaping through the gap.

The girl couldn't afford to look back, since she was racing against two men: one of them was a pervert, and the other? She couldn't even see his face, not alone trust him! And also, time wasn't her friend, but a _fiend_ she had to fight against – she was doing _exactly_ that: trying to get out of the dark alley before one of the men realized her disappearance from the car.

Not that she had an easy job with getting out: her head was still fuzzy, her eyesight still blurry and the walls appeared to have the ability to dance. If she weren't using the wall for support, then she would think that there were at least three or four walls – instead of two. But her sense of touch still could root her mind to the world of reality.

Pushing her body away from a container, she finally stepped onto the illuminated pathway of a side street, causing her to breathe more easily. Since there were some people walking down the street, some of them young couples, some old people with walking stick, and some middle aged with dogs. The presence of these people meant accessible help, if she needed it. And she _pretty_ _much_ needed it – not that she would _ever_ admit it.

Luck seemed to shine on her once more, because someone grabbed hold of her elbow, surprising her. The warmth of the hand was welcomed, so was the firm, yet gentle hold. Her fear was wiped away in that instant, and she looked up to see a concerned face of a by-passer's.

But that wasn't what she found…

"And _where_ do you _think_ you are _going_?"

The girl's eyes found those peculiar black ones, unfathomable, yet furious – and she felt _intimidated_ in that moment, staring into the bottomless wells, searching and reaching her core; her very soul. Those eyes swallowed hers, and she couldn't look away, not even if she wanted to – and she _absolutely_ forgot what she truly wanted. She was just standing there, struggling to _breathe_ properly, her mind completely blank – perfectly in contrast with his face.

But when the man started to drag her back into the shadows of the dark alley, her mind caught up with the events and she opened her mouth to scream for help – but the man stopped her from doing so by placing his free palm against her mouth. Only a strained sound came out of her mouth while she was being hauled back into the veil of darkness by the weird stranger… But _who_ was he? A simple stalker? A kidnapper? A murderer? Well… she _didn't want to know…_

So she recommenced her fight, her seemingly _endless battle_ against this man, who was a mystery, yet an unwanted puzzle. Someone who managed to infuriate her _just_ by being _there_, setting her soul on fire, intensifying her defiance. The very same thing happened when she got captured in those eyes – they were daring, powerful, but not mocking. Yet. Because if he _did_ start mocking her, then she would unavoidably kick him in the groin. _Hard._

The man forced her against the smelly and moldy wall of the abandoned and eerily silent wall. Her mind dimly registered the pain she felt at the contact, but she had other things to worry about. The man still had his palm against her mouth, and she knew that he could easily maneuver that hand to her neck – therefore she could have been moments away from being strangled. Funny thought, that one…

She felt the urge to laugh at her own situation…

'What _now?_'

Her inner voice sounded sarcastic, yet somehow resigned, but it stopped echoing in her head when the man leaned closer, the movement gaining her whole attention – she even stopped her struggling for a split second. Her scared but still unfocused eyes found his. After a few seconds, however, the man looked away, if only for just a moment. He rummaged out something small, bottlelike and shiny. Then he recaptured her eyes and moved his palm away her mouth, so that he could lift that vial of _something_ to her lips.

"You need to drink this, Potter," said the man, and she _froze._

She didn't know whether to be surprised by his concerned tone, or to be shocked to the core by the name he used. At first she thought that she had just heard _wrong_, that her mind was now playing tricks on her, or maybe she was still hallucinating – and she abruptly had the thought that she was still dreaming, that she hadn't escaped from Alan at all. That she had _escaped_ into a hidden recess of her mind; away from the _pain, _the cruel reality.

But she could feel the man's hand on her chin, which held her head, slightly upturning it. His skin was not soft, nor dry, and the long fingers held such warmth she could have never associated with this man. And she _hated it_ – he was someone she couldn't read, she couldn't _see_ his motives, nor could she _understand_, or unfold his _reasons_. She was blind, blind in the _darkness_ the man exuded.

She was frowning at his huge palm, trying to get out something, to say something… _anything_. His hold forbade her from doing so, stopped her from screaming her throat dry and running away, but in that very moment she wanted to ask _questions_ and not scream his _head of_. He must have noticed it too, for he had slackened his hold on her and moved the vial away from her lips just a bit, allowing her to say her part.

"Let… let me go…" she managed to get this much out of her trembling lips and the man looked stricken at the barely audible plea.

The man didn't falter – he raised the small glass container back to her lips. She could feel the cold material touching her almost numb lips. She screwed her eyes closed and her mouth also, trying to keep the man out of her body and mind – because whenever she saw him she just couldn't stop thinking about him, or more importantly: his _reasons_.

"Do I _truly_ need to _spell_ it into your stomach, Potter?!" he demanded, but got no answer in return; not even a heated glare she was so famous for.

He, however, didn't take her defiance and disobedience quite well, for he pinched her small nose between his long fingers, making her to gasp for air. Therefore she had to open her mouth to avoid choking. The man used this opportunity to pour the substance of the vial into her mouth. She wanted to spit it out instantly, but the man covered her mouth with his palm – using the same hand.

She still didn't want to swallow something that wasn't her own concoction – and for God's sake, she had just been drugged; of course she wasn't willing to drink some unnamed and unknown liquid.

So she fought back, not relenting. Not even a bit. She could feel her need for air slowly increasing; her lungs started to burn, torturing her, compelling her to _breathe_. Her mind was also screaming at her, but she just _wouldn't listen_. She couldn't let herself dip back into the drugged haze and she felt the urge to _stand up against this man._

LOST AND FOUND LOST AND FOUND LOST AND FOUND LOST AND FOUND

The cloaked figure was sitting in the darkness, seemingly all alone – and yet he was not; dark shadows lingered there, kneeling on the floor and groveling at his feet for they were no more than dogs. They followed _him_ wherever he went, they granted _him_ his wishes whatever they were and they took punishment either in eery silence or with pleasuring screams.

He was thinking hard but – for once – not about punishments and tormenting insufferable mugles. No, his red eyes were shiny red orbs in the death of the night but not because of his evil schemes – there was a mystery waiting to be revealed. There was something going on in the city of London and he just couldn't grab that piece of knowledge. _No matter how hard he tried._

He suddenly stood up, the dark robe reflecting no light yet whispering deadly in the tense silence. He looked down at his followers with eyes cold as ice and as burning as any fire in Dante's hell – he was ready to issue his command to his most_ faithful_.

"I have decided... _my friendsss..._" his high-pitched voice cut the silence just like a silver blade cuts butter and everyone in the room knew that friends they were not. But master and servant – and never more. "_Luciusss!_"

One of the kneeling men's shoulders tensed for one moment, and one moment only: he was ready to serve but not a fool to await punishment eagerly. Not that he would _fail_ of course, not without a fight. But he was still a _Slytherin_.

"Yes, my Lord?"

The only one standing in the dark room – which was illuminated by the Moon itself – took the first two steps down towards his followers, but he was still hovering over them. His lipless mouth thinned but when he uttered his words he was collected once again:

"I want you to take a group of my faithful Death Eaters into the heart of London and investigate what has our most esteemed _Headmaster_ so interested. I want you to leave at your earliest convenience and report your findings back to me before dawn!"

There was a silver-blond glint in the moonlight when the eldest Malfoy stood up and bowed before his _Master_. He then left the tense room, his mind already bringing up names and faces for this mission.

**This is the end of Chapter Three**

_Thank you for reading!_


	4. Chapter 4

_Warnings_: AU, fem/independent/badassHarry.

_Pairings_: not decided

_Disclaimer_: I don't own anything, but JKR does. And she rocks :D

_Note_: (and warning as well) English is only my second language. I have to apologize in advance for my mistakes. This is also my very first fanfic, so bear with me, please :)) That means that Reviews are loved and appreciated, and if someone could check my lines and tell me whether they're grammatically wrong or not – and stuff like that – would be most kind of you.

_Story Warning_: it starts slow.

**LOST AND FOUND**

_Chapter Four_

_Dark of the Night_

Her thoughts were still a mess, no matter how _hard_ she was trying to get them in line; ordering them just didn't seem to work – not at all. It was an improvement, however, that she could finally see straight, and she managed to move her limbs, albeit slower than normal. Her _little_ run made her head clear a bit, but now her _muscles _ached in earnest.

When the man took her elbow once _again_ not only was she scared to death by his sudden appearance, but angered (_once again!_) that she let her guard down. And here she was; in the clutches of the dark and _nameless_ man and she trembled under his now forceful touch. He wasn't harsh enough to leave bruises, but his intentions showed trough his actions – whatever those _intentions _were.

She expected him to shove her into the wall or seize both of her arms and_ maybe_ strike her or drag her away. _None_ of the above happened... but his eyes held his self-righteous fury; a fury _so strong_, that it scorched her soul and was burnt into her memory in a second. It took her by surprise to see _any_ emotion on his somber face.

"What were you..." started the man, but he didn't get to finish his well crafted tirade because something or some_one_ took away his attention from her.

From the dark alley they were hiding in – or at least the stranger chose this place to drag her away to– they could easily see some _other_ dark figures appearing. They were no by-passers – even she could deduce that much. They were wearing dark long cloaks ('_In the middle of the hottest summers in quite some years?!_') that hid them well in the darkness and helped them in blending in – because they totally needed _some_ blending in.

LOST AND FOUND LOST AND FOUND LOST AND FOUND LOST AND FOUND

Albus Dumbledore was worried. He tugged at his long and white beard for he was indecisive – which was, to be honest, extremely rare for a man of his caliber. And yet, unease would not leave him now, not even at his own command, so he was left waiting and walking up and down in his office. He didn't even notice his Deputy entering.

"Albus", Minerva McGonagall's voice was firm and demanding, but there laid a certain softness which was only offered to those she loved, respected or cared about. "What has you so occupied? Is there... something wrong?"

The ancient man stopped for a moment, and for a moment only. His eyes were glazed over and missing their twinkle – and this served to scare the Deputy even further. She just continued to stand there with rapt attention and her body tense, as if expecting a blow from fate.

"It is Severus..."

She almost couldn't catch his whisper for it was hardly more or louder than a simple outtake of breath. "Has something happened to him, Albus?"

It was a stupid question and she knew it quite well; they were at war, after all. People died everyday and there seemed to be no solution to the ailment for the anomaly called _Voldemort_. He was gaining power and supporters everyday, while they, the _Order_, couldn't keep up with the Dark Side. The Death Eaters outnumbered them in their confrontations, and the Dark Lord had the Ministry's support through Lucius Malfoy.

But not everything was lost yet – not to them. Not only would they never give up fighting, they would keep struggling against _Him_ and his followers no matter what. First of all, they had Albus Dumbledore – one of the greatest wizards alive.

And they had the _Boy Who Lived_.

"Should we send someone to get him?", she offered and for one moment the old wizard looked into her eyes imploringly.

"No, maybe that would not be the wisest...", he started but was interrupted by his Deputy, or rather: by her infamous temper.

"Knowing him, he would do something rather harsh and rude...", McGonagall's eyes flashed, but then Dumbledore went on, completely ignoring her – which of course only added to her ire.

"...But I am planning to commence an _Order_ meeting immediately."

McGonagall nodded her head and with a swift farewell she left the office, ready to notify the Order members of the castle, while the beautiful, fearless – and to some people quite scary – fiery bird looked up at the old man's face, his eyes soft and dark, an excited gleam in them.

This was no ordinary bird – with it's impulsivity and unstoppable temper, pure heart, unbreakable will and indestructible righteousness it was ready to aid the fire that would purify the Isles.

_The phoenix was ready._

LOST AND FOUND LOST AND FOUND LOST AND FOUND LOST AND FOUND

The place was dark, yes, but not unnaturally so – not to them, not to _him_ at least. The man in dark leather stood at the edge of the premises; _watching, never more_. His vibrant eyes took in the valley and its dark forests, the ever moving birds – majestic, but just little snacks for _him_.

"Sire...", started a low, perfectly controlled voice from behind. The man in leather didn't turn around, nor did he acknowledge the speaker first but then he relented – and no one dared to even think about such an act as cowardly, for it wasn't: he was sure (yet still annoyed to be interrupted in his meditating and relaxing silence and observation) that the information borne by the man was important.

"_Dimmi_."

The man's voice was darker than the night itself, filling the messenger with immediate foreboding, sending chills down his back – the _Highlord's_ tone was harsh and cutting to the bone after all, colder than ice. The order was spoken in Italian which made everything even more sinister.

"My Sire," started the man with no name once again, but now with even less certainty, "the packs are heading North..."

"_What?!_", thundered the tall man, interrupting the kneeling one's report. The latter one immediately shut up, tensed and waited in complete silence. "Elaborate – _now_!"

"Yes, sir," came the always ready answer from the masked person, "the lookouts' reports state hardly reasonable sighting of werewolf packs heading North, leaving their territory."

The Italian man turned around swiftly, yet without a sound – his vibrant eyes flashed in his silent but uncontrolled fury. "And when _exactly_ did this information come in?"

The man on the cold and rough stone gulped but gave the answer nonetheless. "An hour ago, Sir. The Council is already in the Throne Room."

Then all of a sudden the messenger was left alone – his Lord was gone and only the faint smell of blood and peppermint remained.

LOST AND FOUND LOST AND FOUND LOST AND FOUND LOST AND FOUND

The half horse, half man creature looked up at the stars, silently observing, analyzing, trying to grasp the meanings of hidden whispers of the sky. The wise centaur's veiled curiosity drove him to gaze at the tiny and secretive diamonds above, but decoding them completely was close to impossible.

_But one thing was for sure..._

"Change is coming," said a somber voice behind him.

The younger and more handsome looking creature took his eyes off of the ever so secretive dots of light and turned to face an other of his species. The other was not bigger, but seemed to be more muscular, his mane was darker, the color of rainy earth, while his was the color of sandy-brown.

"Indeed, Bane. _Mars_ is bright these days but it is still dim compared to what we will have to face..."

The elder's eyes never left his face, which was calm, ready to face everything – while the other's was not so impassive: a frown marred his otherwise impressive face. They both knew that the darker one had always been the more impulsive one. This was a fact they never commented on, yet it was still obvious.

"'_What we will have to face_', Firenze?", quoted Bane, with light sarcasm in his tone, which was so unlike a centaur – something Firenze neglected to point out to him. "You seem to be _deluded_ by your own naivety, my Friend; why would someone like you, wise in his age ever think about joining this _farce_ of a war?"

Light blue eyes snapped to dark browns, looked into them sharply – there was no condemnation in them, but no love either. His eyes were steely, and although his kind never seemed to accuse of its own, there was still some of the sentiment in his eyes.

"Are you mocking the _dead_, Bane?", now there was _some real_ accusation in his voice.

The bolder one huffed and secured his bow on his back – for the _hundredth_ time.

"We do not care for the dead, Firenze..."

"_But we care for the living_."

LOST AND FOUND LOST AND FOUND LOST AND FOUND LOST AND FOUND

The woman in green-brown gown was raising her spoon to her delicate lips, ready to consume the gifts of her forest, but then her pointy ears notified her of approaching steps. The wooden cutlery stopped midway to its destination and was abandoned when her guests entered the canopy.

Those two – a young man with flowing blond hair and startlingly blue eyes and a younger woman with the same coloration looked unfazed after climbing those few hundred steps carved from the huge tree's trunk.

"My Lady, we come bearing news", started the man while bowing to the still sitting beauty.

The one sitting looked up at them, her grey eyes calm, not showing any emotion and regarded the two with icy grace. She moved no muscles at first, just observed in silence, then she gave a tiny nod. "Continue..."

"Elder Lorelii has _Seen_," blurted the younger female, unable to keep her otherwise collected stance. But she had _her_ attention – the information made her marble face come alive, the light of curiosity return to her eyes. They sparkled like small silver coins in the Moonlight. Even her body reacted to the information: her whole body jerked, the muscles in her neck tensed and her nails scratched the tabletop.

"Is it a _prophecy_?", she asked, her voice excited.

"Why is it _always_ prophecies that you want? After all... you... of all people should know, that _fate_ is not set in stone. One person, one act can change everything and anything," a silky whisper sounded from behind the two – and the younger ones almost jumped in surprise for they were completely unaware of the person behind them. They couldn't even sense the wrinkled, yet still somehow beautiful and undeniably imposing elderly lady.

The one in the green gown suddenly stood up with her inhuman speed, obviously angered by the witty remark. Her silver eyes flashed dangerously and her face was once again set in stone, her long and spidery fingers grasped the hem of her dress.

Then she quite visibly tried to calm herself, to settle her raging emotions and used her icy tone laced with derision: "What _is_ it, then, if not a Prophecy?! _What other words of yours would I ever find worthwhile?"_

The wrinkled lady smiled that gentle and secretive smile of hers, even her voice adopted a slight lecturing tinge. "All my words are words of _wisdom_ – maybe you are just too blind to see them, too deaf to hear them."

"Says the one who actually _is_ blind. How _dare_ you ridicule me so?!"

The elder only chuckled at the shriek, for she was quite familiar with the younger's outbursts. She took a step forward and the two in silence stepped back to let her pass – or maybe to get away from her.

"I might be _blind_ but I still see more than you ever could, My Lady," her voice was still kind but now had a sharp note to it. "But if I _bore_ you..."

"Wait," came the sharp order and it stopped the elderly lady in her steps, froze her to the ground. "What have you _Seen_?"

Lorelii didn't answer at first, just stood there like a statue – silent and ever watching. Then she turned around slowly – only adding to the younger lady's curiosity – and looked at the one in green. Looked straight at her – no; into her. Those completely white eyes almost crushed the grey ones.

"Fire and blood. Two _Suns_ dancing and dead bodies falling. Rage and hate, love and loss. Revenge. _I have Seen the worlds colliding_."

LOST AND FOUND LOST AND FOUND LOST AND FOUND LOST AND FOUND

An old man sat in silence, merely staring at the dirty windowsill of his cell. His unclean rags and hair mattered not in that moment, for he raised his almost empty eyes at the stars above; his breath rasped in his throat:

"_So the bells of Fate are tolling again... The Call has sounded_."

**This is the end of Chapter Four**

_Thank you for reading!_

_Please Review!_

_~Saly_


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